


Three Days in District 4

by TintinnabulousRunes



Series: Panem Forever [15]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Explicit Language, F/M, POV First Person, The Rebellion Failed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26663326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TintinnabulousRunes/pseuds/TintinnabulousRunes
Summary: Three days in the life of Hyacinth Ballast.
Relationships: Original Female Character(s)/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Panem Forever [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/597205
Comments: 8
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Winter 92**   
**January 8th**

**Hyacinth Ballast**   
**District 4**   
**Tour Guide**

Rain pounds against the sides of the house. I have seen worse storms, but the coming days will still be full of repairs. There will be no tours but work with my father will keep me busy instead.

A clap of thunder sends Kelp from the footstool and into the kitchen. Lynn sighs and gets up, again, taking a blanket with her. "Kelp, we've been over this. It's not that bad."

There is a mournful meow followed moments later by loud purring. Lynn returns to the living room. She has Kelp wrapped up in the blanket and plops down beside me. I give him a scratch behind the ears.

The phone begins to ring in the kitchen.

Lynn glares in the direction of the offending sound before passing me Kelp and trudging back over to the kitchen to answer the phone. There are so few people who have phones that there's no such thing as a trivial phone call. One that's at five in the morning is particularly notable.

I eavesdrop because, well, what else am I going to do?

"Midas?" Lynn says incredulously, "Do... do you even know what time it is? What the fuck? Slow down... Seriously, slow the fuck down. What are you even talking about?"

There is a lull, then Lynn pokes her head into the living room, covering the mouthpiece of the phone with her hand. "Can you go ask Luke if he's got Dawn's number? Midas is... Well, something is wrong and damned if I know what to do with him right now."

"Sure," I agree, moving the blanket full of cat to the side and getting to my feet.

I slip into the kitchen, grabbing my coat where it hangs from the hook by the back door.

I bundle up, for what it's worth with this kind of wind, and head out. It's a mad dash to Luke's and I feel a bit guilty banging on his door this early in the morning.

Not even a minute later, Luke answers the door. "Everyone alright?"

He already has a hand on his own coat.

All I can do is shrug, "Midas called and he's freaking out. Do you have Dawn's number?"

"No," Luke answers, pulling on his coat. "I'll come help."

We rush back to the house. I get the kitchen door and Luke heads straight in. I follow but am not really sure I should stay. This is Victor business. This conversation is not really for me to hear.

"Midas..." Lynn tries to cut off the barely comprehensible jumble of words from the other end of the line. She has the receiver on the table in speaker mode. "Midas... Midas, listen to me. Slow down. Slow down and go over it again. You're not making any sense."

Lynn catches my eye and motions to the seat to her right. I sit down next to her as requested. Under the table, Lynn places her hand in mine. Her fingers are curled tightly, the stress of the conversation making her injuries flare.

I run my thumb across the back of her hand in small, soothing circles. I guess I'm staying.

"You know how Wolfshiem got executed," Midas' voice crackles over the connection. "It's because she rigged it. I knew it but I finally have the proof. Her brother was in debt and placed a bet on Ike making it to the final eight. That's why she killed them. That's why they died. It wasn't our faults."

Lynn lets out a shuttering breath and leans against my shoulder.

"Where are you even getting this from? What proof could you have?" Lynn asks, her voice impressively steady even though I can feel her trembling.

"I have a copy of the report. Things are hectic and it's easier to get ahold of paperwork right now. It says it right here. By order of President Ferrum, Pricilla Wolfshiem was executed for high treason and fraud. It's because she rigged it," Midas insists. "Her official statement was about ratings and viewing times, but that was just her attempt at a cover up."

Luke takes a seat across from us.

"Midas, it's Luke." He says in a calm voice; the same one he uses to coax Lynn out from behind furniture. "Where exactly did you get the report? Do you really trust the source?"

"I trust them. It's true, it has to be." Midas dismisses the concerns too easily.

Lynn tries again, still trembling. "Look. It may very well be true. I'm not going to deny that possibility. It's still odd, though. You know the normal patterns for mutt attacks on alliances. One dies, others may get injured, but are allowed to live. If the whole alliance is taken out, that's a Gamemaker execution. Plain and simple."

A pause follows. Then Midas says in a quiet voice. "It's like you want it to be our faults."

"I-" Lynn's voice cracks. She squeezes my hand tight and tries again. "I know I made some bad calls. Can you really not say the same, Midas?"

The wound is still raw. Wounds from the Games take a long time to heal and never heal clean. I don't like where this is going, Midas digging his fingers in these wounds, but don't know how to stop it.

"It's not my fault." He insists in a quiet whimper that says he's screamed the same words before.

"It's not _all_ your fault. I'm not saying that. It's just that we have to learn from what happened. And we can't learn anything if we just blame it on Wolfshiem or her brother or whoever."

"But it's not my fault." Midas repeats, even quieter.

"Okay, Midas." Lynn says with a defeated sigh. "There's a storm here, so I'm going to be busy for a few days. But if you want to talk more, I'll call you back when I can, alright?"

"Alright. I wish we could spar."

Lynn somehow cracks a smile. "Don't tempt me, Raptor, or I'll take a train over to 1 to kick your ass."

"You only ever win because you cheat."

"Of course, I do. Now, go bug Dawn or something. I'll talk to you later, bye."

Lynn quickly reaches over and hangs up the phone. The forward momentum continues to carry her, and she lets her head thunk against the table. She makes a wordless noise of displeasure.

I let go of her hand and pat her on the back. She normally regains the ability to express herself in words after a minute or two. Luke reaches across the table and ruffles her hair. Lynn doesn't react. It might be more than a couple minutes for her to talk, then.

"Why did he call about this? Why not at least wait to tell me in person?" Lynn unexpectedly murmurs.

Luke ruffles her hair and she takes a half-hearted swipe at him. He answers her questions. "He probably expected you to feel as relieved as he does and was excited. He's obviously constructed a narrative that absolves him of all guilt."

Lynn slowly sits up, shaking her head. "There's nothing much you can even say to him." She rests her chin in her hand. "If Kit or Dorian ever even joke about volunteering, my plan has always been to have someone gag them."

"I got lucky," I supply. "Laurel has been vegetarian since she was ten. She's relaxed on it a little but still refuses to eat anything with a central nervous system."

Lynn snorts. "What was the ruling on octopus, again?"

"She was okay until Chiyo poured soy sauce on it and the tentacles started moving. She screamed and left. I thought it was tasty."

Lynn manages another smile. "That's just because you'll eat anything."

"Including your cooking?"

Lynn scoffs before laughing. "I walked right into that but how dare you?"

Truth is that neither of us can cook worth a damn. But we're both slowly getting better.

She bumps into me in something between a hug and a shoulder check. She'll be fine.


	2. Chapter 2

**Winter 92**   
**February 22nd**

**Hyacinth Ballast**   
**District 4**   
**Tour Guide**

The baskets are heavy in my arms, laden with eggs, a bottle of milk, and all of the lemons in the shop, five total, plus two limes because all the lemons were not enough lemons. Two limes should be the equivalent of one lemon, right? They are half the size of a lemon. Should I have gotten three?

Annie will tell me if I'm wrong soon enough.

The gate is opened for me. I have to catch myself before I take the automatic path to home. Annie's place is my destination right now. Luckily, Lynn is over in Low Ward for the day, so I don't have to worry about running interference to prevent her from finding out the plan.

Annie agreed to make Lynn's cake this year. I have, as consequence, gotten far more involved than normal. Buying a cake is way easier. Annie's good company and I don't mind helping her, so it's not a big deal.

I try to negotiate the door open, arms full of baskets and too stubborn to put them down. I have to pause for a split second because Lynn really is rubbing off on me. The logical course of action is putting one of the baskets down and opening the door with my hand like a normal person. But I open the door with my knee and elbow anyways because there's a certain principle to it at this point.

"Hi," I call out, giving Annie plenty of warning to my presence if the door rattling didn't already give me away. "Think I managed to get everything. They only had five lemons, so I got a couple of limes, too."

"Sounds good. You can put it down right here." Annie replies from over by the sink, where she is dicing strawberries, gesturing to an area of open counter space.

I unburden myself and am immediately handed a bowl and spatula. A glance tells me it's strawberry buttercream that needs some more mixing. The countertop mixer is occupied, probably by the strawberry flavored half of the batter. I know my place.

I find a comfortable seat at the table and start mixing.

Annie hums as she works. I'm fine with the quiet but pick up her tune whenever it's something I recognize.

Annie starts working on the lemon flavored half of things. She zests two of the lemons into the batter and another into the buttercream. She pauses, holding a fourth lemon.

"Will Lynn want it sweeter or tarter?"

"She's got a sweet tooth. I don't think you could make it too sweet for her." 

Annie gives a slight frown. "This recipe just calls for more powdered sugar than I'm used to."

"It'll be fine. You know that thing when you eat something so sweet it makes your teeth hurt? Lynn likes it when that happens."

Annie and I are both startled by another knock on the door.

Emily lets herself inside. She surveys the collection of bowls. "Do I really want to know?"

Annie explains the situation, "Lynn saw this recipe for a strawberry lemonade cake and said it looked tasty but way too complicated to make. I took offense to her lack of confidence in my baking abilities."

Emily considers the story, then sighs heavily, "Are you seriously baking a cake out of spite?"

Annie keeps portioning out the batter. "This surprises you?"

And to think that some people doubt that Annie Cresta is a proper Polis member.

"Lynn's going to think it's hilarious." I point out.

Emily turns to me, "And how'd you wind up in the middle of spite baking?"

"It's been my job to acquire Lynn's birthday cake since I was thirteen. Everyone in Otter has their place in the cake network." I explain, then add on, "Needed to recruit at least one other person to help bring in a cake anyways." 

"Oh?"

"Well, most years it was Jason and me bringing the cake. Delph joined in not long after she joined Otter. But then it was just Delph and me. And last year I didn't really do anything because I couldn't bring myself to do it alone. None of us needed that."

That got dark fast. I can't help but squirm some. It's not a pleasant thing. I really don't like thinking about it too hard.

Emily puts her hand on my shoulder. "You know, if you ever need to talk, I'm around. Victors aren't the only ones who get fucked up by the Games."

I'm not entirely sure how to react. I do appreciate it. It's also just really weird seeing the side of Emily who's just straight up a nice person. I know she is. But it's just normally buried so deep, you'd never notice it.

"Thanks," I say and do mean it. "I'll probably take you up on that at some point. But for now, there is cake to worry about."

I turn my focus back to the nearly complete batch of buttercream rather than lingering on emotionally difficult topics of conversation.

"So, since you're here..." Annie starts, hand already heading towards a bowl.

Emily shakes her head. "I am not getting roped into this."

"You can lick the spoon."

Emily purses her lips, and I can practically see the internal debate play out. She holds out her hands. "Fuck you. Give it."

Annie smugly passes her the bowl.

Emily takes a seat next to me, tasked with the lemon buttercream.

Annie turns back to the mixer. She begins humming Drunken Sailor. Emily and I both pick up the tune.


	3. Chapter 3

**Spring 92**   
**March 21st**

**Hyacinth Ballast**   
**District 4**   
**Tour Guide**

I catch a whiff of stale beer and someone is slumped against the wall up ahead, but at least they are something close to upright. I keep walking at a steady pace. I'll offer help if it's needed but I've also seen people sleep upright like that, so no point in needlessly disturbing them. I'm also not going to turn around just because there's a drunk in an alley.

Getting closer, there's something familiar about the slumped figure. They move, looking up at me. Oh, shit, that's Devon.

He pushes off the wall, nominally blocking my path.

"You!" He jabs the air with an accusing finger.

"Devon, leave. You are not wanted here."

Devon shakes his head so violently he throws himself off balance. He catches himself on the wall and rights himself. "No. I'm going to finish things."

"There's nothing to finish." I take a deliberate step toward him. He's an inch taller than me but he's hunched enough that I seem taller right now. "Go crawl back in whatever hole you've been hiding in."

"She wasn't supposed to be Victor. She wasn't supposed to volunteer. She was supposed to listen to me and drop out. She was supposed to be mine." Devon gives me a hateful look. "And now she's yours."

By the Olympians, this jackass. Nothing gets through his thick skull, does it?

"Lynn isn't mine, Devon. She isn't some prize to be fought over and won. All these years and you've never seemed to understand that concept."

Devon sneers at me. "Well, it doesn't even matter. I don't even want that bitch anymore, now that she's being fucked by everyone in the Capitol with two nummus to rub together."

My fist connects with Devon's face, his nose breaking with a satisfying crack. I will not kill Devon. I'm just going to make him wish he was dead.

It is easy to give into rage. That is why I try to avoid it. Not right now.

I press my advantage, landing a left hook cleanly on his cheek and a follow up right cross to his jaw. It's a basic, well-practiced combination. Devon stumbles, catches himself on the wall, and hurls himself at me. I sidestep but he still catches my shoulder, and we slam into the wall.

He's taller and has a few pounds on me. And a drunk ex-career is still an ex-career.

He lands a solid hit to my ribs. I focus all my weight into slamming him into the wall. The back of his head cracks against the brick.

We continue to scuffle, exchanging glancing blows. My knuckles scrap across the rough brick, drawing blood.

Devon's movements are erratic, nothing proper about his form or technique. It takes me some time to adjust. It's the difference between sparring and a real fight. There's no limits here. No avoiding the spine or neck or head. 

I drive my knee into his gut. Devon falters. I grab ahold of his jacket and slam him face first into the wall. Devon crumples to the ground.

I pin him with a boot on the center of his chest, putting enough weight behind it to make it difficult for him to breathe.

"We done here?" I ask, not sure what sort of answer I'm hoping for.

"Fuck you!" Devon spits at me.

I add more weight. "I will gladly break every bone in your worthless body. Is that what you want me to do, fodder?"

Devon struggles. I remove my foot long enough to stomp on his knee. Devon curls in on himself. It just makes it easier to give a kick to his kidneys.

He's broken and I'm done, because I don't think I could stop myself if I kept going.

I leave Devon behind. So much for stopping by the candy shop for a treat. 

The walk home takes long enough for my knuckles to begin smarting. Luckily, it's Vit at the gate. He gives me a skeptical look but does not comment as he opens the gate for me.

I beeline for home, heading for the back door to get straight to the kitchen. I just want to get cleaned up so I don't get blood or dirt over everything. I turn on the sink and hold my hands under the water to wash the grime away. The wounds smart.

The base knuckle of my left middle finger is swollen. I prod at it. Sore but not too bad. Got a boxer's fracture once, so I think I would be able to tell if I got one again.

This will not be a fun one to explain.

_Oh, this? No big deal. I just ran into Devon and beat his fucking face in._

I try to not sweat the small stuff and I try not to get worked up over things I can't change. At the end of the day, there is a lot I can't change. I can't change anything about the Capitol, or the Games. I can't change Lynn's nightmares.

But beating Devon's face in has the direct effect of shutting him up. I hope I broke his jaw, because that would have the added bonus of shutting him up for a good while. Either way, he's beaten down and that's a solid outcome and something I have complete control over.

There are some days when violence is not the answer. Rather, it is the question. And today the answer was a resounding yes.

I'm not proud of this part of myself. At least, I try not to be. I like being the reasonable one. I like figuring out how to stop fights before they start. Maybe I'm a bit too passive sometimes, but this is the alternative.

The back door swings open and oh, shit I have no time to think of what to say.

Lynn has an immediate look of worry. There's probably a bit more blood on me than I realize.

"Devon showed his face." I explain.

"Take it he doesn't have much of a face to show now?"

"No."

"Good," Lynn says with a tight-lipped smile.

I never really know what's going through her head. She might be mad at me or mad at Devon's existence. Possibly both. She takes another look at me. "Let me get that." 

Lynn maneuvers me away from the sink and plops me down at the table. She fetches the first aid kit from its spot on the wall by the back door. Taking the seat across form me, she gets alcohol and clean gauze.

She dabs at the torn skin of my knuckles, cleaning the grime I hadn't gotten to.

"Sorry to cause a fuss."

Lynn takes my hand in hers, mindful of the scrapes. Her eyes bore into mine. "You are never a fuss. I know the kind of shit that Devon talks. You showed better restraint than I would have."

I squeeze her hand, at a loss for words.

There is a brief rapping on the kitchen door.

"It's open," Lynn calls, then turns back to dabbing at the torn skin of my knuckles.

"Oh, good. I was hoping you were home." Emily says as she opens the door. "So, turns out fuckin' Devon's back in town. And the reason I know this is that the clinic called because someone beat the ever-loving shit out of him. Not to be accusatory, but do you happen to know anything about that?"

"That was me," I admit.

Emily looks over at us and her brows raise. "Not my first pick. Was there a reason you needed to beat his face in?"

"He deserved it."

"Any particular reason?"

She is trying to be intimidating, eyes narrowed and shoulders setting. Emily has never really scared me, and she certainly won't start now.

"He was breathing." I offer flippantly.

Lynn taps my elbow, the signal she uses on her kids when they're being too much.

I am not being too much. I was justified. I had to shut him up and I did.

But the fight has gone out of me along with the last of the adrenaline. I'm just so tired.

Lynn shifts her position, ever so slightly putting herself further between me and Emily. Her body language is still relaxed but it's forced. The part of my brain still in fight mode is very, very glad Lynn is on my side.

"I have things covered here," Lynn says, voice eerily calm. "You can go."

Emily's expression darkens. "Lynn."

"You can leave, Emily."

There is no room for argument, there.

Emily leaves. It's not over. I know it's not. But she's gone and Lynn locks the door behind her.

Before I can even say anything, she says, "You're still not a fuss."

I open my mouth to retort, but she doesn't let me. "You are not."

Lynn wipes away the last of the grime and blood. She begins wrapping my hands in a loose layer of gauze to keep the dirt off but still let the wound breathe. 

There is another knock on the door. Lynn glares at it. I'm surprised that the wood does not spontaneously combust in response to her displeasure.

"I'm not upset, I just have an update." Luke's muffled voice sounds through the door.

Lynn gets up and unbolts the door but leaves the chain in place. Luke appears unfazed by her choice and says, "Fractured jaw, three broken ribs, and a shattered kneecap. I take it everything is settled?"

Fractured jaw is good enough. I answer, "It's done."

"I trust your judgement. Good job, then. Emily keeps saying anything, send her to me. You are my kid; I deal with you."

When Luke leaves, it seems more final.

If I had any dregs of adrenaline left, they are certainly gone now. I just want to sleep. The table looks pretty comfortable right about now.

"Let's go to the couch." Lynn says, tugging lightly on my arm.

I take a moment to weight the benefits of more comfortable couch versus not wanting to move.

Another tug and I comply. Reaching the couch, I collapse bonelessly upon it. And regret that decision as my ribs hurt more than they have a right to.

"Adrenaline crashes suck," Lynn states.

Lynn curls up against my side. Her weight is comfortable, grounding. Her hair smells like lemon grass and lavender and it's familiar and calming.

I know I can scare people when I get violent. My family especially. I think they'd hoped the Polis Program would help me channel things. Mixed results there. Even Emily seemed bothered by what I did or else she wouldn't have pressed the issue the way she did.

Luke is supportive, which is nice. But I also know he's not 100% the best judge on appropriate force. So, I have to take his approval with a grain or two of salt.

Lynn, though, she's unfazed. I'll always be grateful for that.

I lean over and press a kiss to the top of her head.

Lynn snuggles in closer.

"You don't need to defend my honor," Lynn says softly enough that I'm not entirely sure if she actually wanted me to hear it.

"I don't have to. But I want to." I reply just as softly.

Lynn shifts, looking up at me. "I love you."

"And I love you." I tell her, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

"Come 'ere."

Lynn twines her fingers in my hair and pulls me in for a deeper kiss.

We fit together well. It's not so much filling gaps but covering each other's flanks. We're stable when the other is unsteady.

By the Olympians, I love her.


End file.
